


It Wasn't a New Thing

by jqueen17



Category: Phan
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 09:57:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7569739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jqueen17/pseuds/jqueen17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Description: Dan had never really been comfortable with the way he looked. But it wasn’t a new thing for Phil to make him see that all of the things he hated about himself were actually the best things about him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Wasn't a New Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Length: A very short 1,814
> 
> Warnings: None that I can think of, other than a few cursewords here and there and fluff!
> 
> Notes: A (very late) response to a prompt an anon on tumblr gave me a few weeks ago-so sorry for the delay, my life has been a mess this month.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!:)

Dan  
You know how people have those days where they absolutely hate everything about themselves? 

Today was one of those days for me.

I wasn't having an existential crisis (at the moment), but Phil and I had been invited to a YouTube gathering tonight and I just… wasn't going. I'd gotten dressed, fancy as always, but I looked positively awful. My hair wouldn't flatten all the way and my skin looked ashy and this shirt did not compliment my body at all, and neither did these pants. I was more of a mess than usual, and not in the funny branding way.

It wasn't a new thing.

I had been staring at myself in the mirror for a good twenty minutes before Phil came to find me, probably sensing my distress.

“Dan?” he called, knocking quietly on the slightly open bathroom door. “If we don't leave soon we'll be late.”

I looked down as he pushed the door open, avoiding his confused expression. I didn't like being late for things, and he knew that. I don't blame him for being confused.

“I'm not going,” I mumbled, still staring at my hands on the counter and not at whatever look was on Phil’s face. He was silent for a few beats before speaking, to my surprise not sounding judgmental in the slightest.

“Okay. Can I ask why?”

I shrugged, throwing a hand up to gesture to my reflection. “This.”

I heard Phil’s footsteps as he walked over to me, still too ashamed to look at him. His hand rested on my back for a moment before moving to my arm, tugging me back through the hall and to his room. We sat on the bed, quiet for a few minutes, just sitting. I knew Phil was waiting for me to explain, but I really didn't want to. I just wanted him to go to the party and leave me here so I could change back into sweats and look like shit on purpose.

Eventually he sighed, accepting my silence. “Okay, Dan. You don't have to go if you don't want. And I'm not trying to guilt you into this. But our friends are really excited to see you, especially since we just got back from tour.”

I bit my lip, shaking my head and avoiding the plea in Phil's eyes. He knew I would regret not going, but I could live with that regret. I couldn't live with people seeing me like this. It wasn't just today, either; I could usually make myself ignore how gross of a person I was and how people saw me. But not today. My brain would not allow that today.

Phil studied my face, trying his best to catch my eye, but eventually had to resort to lifting my chin by the tips of his fingers. I let him, not fighting it, because I trusted Phil not to get mad at me or make fun of me for being a whiny little bitch like I was being now. 

His eyes searched mine for a long time, trying to figure out why I was suddenly unhappy. I had been fine this week, no existential crises or anything. And now this. Eventually Phil pursed his lips, letting go of my chin and taking my hand in his.

“Something’s wrong, and you need to tell me. I can't help if I don't know how, okay? I won't laugh and I won't judge.”

I held his gaze for a few seconds before nodding, sucking in a breath as I began my rant.

“I look disgusting and I'm not funny or interesting and our friends like you more because you have a personality that isn't complete shit. I don't want to go because at least if I looked okay people could focus on that instead of me, and I could at least feel good about one thing about myself.”

To Phil’s credit, he didn't laugh or judge. He simply nodded, looking down at our hands as I talked. When I was through, he pulled me to my feet, moving his hands to my shoulders and walking me over to stand in front of my mirror. He tapped my chin again, causing me to look up at our reflections. 

Phil looked great as always, wearing his dark blue white-spotted shirt and fancy “party” shoes, as he called them. He was wearing his glasses for some reason, which just made him look even better. The glasses, paired with the dark shirt, brought out his eyes even more than usual. His hair was straight and silky black and his skin was smooth and clear and flawless.

I, however, was wearing fancy clothes but still looked bad. My hair had done a weird crimped thing this morning, so it was a hideous mix between hobbit hair and a dry flat, with fat pieces sticking up everywhere. My eyes looked oddly small, my right cheek was doing that thing where the spot of one of my freckles turned pink, and my skin looked pasty instead of smooth.

And while Phil looked tall and slim and strong, I just looked big. And not in the good way. It was making me really hate this shirt, which wasn't fair because it was my moth shirt and I usually loved it. 

I was just a mess, and standing next to Phil made it even more prominent. I was starting to turn away from the mirror when Phil tightened his hands on my shoulders a little, keeping me in place.

“What is bothering you the most right now about how you look?”

I met his eyes in the mirror, taking a deep before responding, “My hair.” Phil nodded, probably repressing an eye roll since my hair had always been my least favourite part of myself. He moved his hands to my hair, running his fingers through the mess on top of my head and smiling a little.

“First off, you have too much hairspray in it. That's why it keeps sticking up. Second, you straightened it too fast. So here's my suggestion-go take a shower, and don't straighten it again today.”

I raised an eyebrow at our reflections. “You're suggesting wearing my hair curly will make me feel better about myself?”

Phil grinned, smoothing my hair back down and shrugging. “People like it, Dan. I don't know why you don't; you look adorable with it curly. I love it,” he shrugged again, kissing the side of my head. I chuckled, rolling my eyes and accepting that.

“What about the rest of me?”

Smiling softly, Phil shook his head. “Go shower and then we'll move on from there.”

I did as he said, washing my hair for the second time today and noticing he had been right about the hair spray. My hair had been way too stiff and not straightened thoroughly, and as I towel dried it to the best of my ability, I could already feel it curling.

I pulled my skinny jeans on, tossing my moth shirt into the clothes basket in the hall. I'd decided in the shower that today just wasn't a moth shirt day. Phil didn't seem surprised when I returned shirtless, simply leading the way to my room and the wardrobe.

“The problem I think you're having with the moth shirt,” he began, shifting my shirts around in the wardrobe, “is that it isn't black. You're more confident in black, so…” Pulling two shirts from the wardrobe, Phil held them up, letting me decide.

One was my Harry Styles shirt from hosting the Brit’s, and the other was my Hawaiian Santa shirt.

“Phil,” I laughed, gesturing to the ridiculous choices he'd given me. “The Brit’s one is too fancy, and I can't wear the Hawaiian one-it isn't very appropriate for a regular gathering in the middle of July.”

Phil mock-pouted, looking offended. “Haven't you ever heard of Christmas in July?”

He had a point. Laughing, I took the Hawaiian shirt from his hand, putting it on and raising my hands to pose after I'd buttoned it. “The fuckboy shirt returns from the grave.”

Phil snickered, and I followed him back to his room, the smile falling from my face. The reason we kept going back there, I think, was the fact that his lighting was a lot better than mine was in my room. And I needed good lighting right now.

When we had returned to our positions in front the mirror, Phil tapped his chin, studying my face. “What else do you not like?”

“My eyes,” I blurted immediately. “And my skin. And my bloated face. And my nonexistent cheekbones and jawline. And-”

Phil put a hand gently over my mouth, effectively shutting me up. “Alright, that's enough. Ready to hear my rant?”

I shrugged, gesturing for him to go ahead. We were definitely late to the party by now, but Phil didn't look concerned in the slightest.

“I'll start with your eyes. I really don't know how you could not like them, honestly. They aren't brown, Dan-they're sparkling and gold and caramel and chocolate all mixed into two shining circles that I get to look at every day. And guess what?” Phil poked my side, causing me to instinctively smile and swat at his hand. “They light up and glitter when you smile.”

I blushed, which made Phil's eyes light up this time. “And you said you don't like your skin? Well that's ridiculous-it changes color! Which is amazing to a person like me, who is white and only white. All the time. Forever.”

I giggled as he kissed my cheek, making my skin go hot again from embarrassment. As did his thumbs running over the tops of my cheeks and jaw.

“And as for cheekbones and jawlines, I don't know what you mean-I can see them and they're very soft and squishy. Like you.”

I swatted his hands away, laughing and blushing and overall very flustered. “Okay, okay, Phil. I'll go to the damn party with you.”

Phil made a sound of excitement and success, wrapping his arms around me and giving me a huge kiss. “Yay! I promise you look absolutely fantastic-you'll see.”

I rolled my eyes, not believing him but accepting the sheer love Phil Lester was showing me. It made me realize he was an English major, when he spoke like that-he could use words so simply to show me how much he cared.

 

All in all, nearly every person we spoke to that night complimented both my shirt and my hair. Phil kept giving me happy little glances, to which I rolled my eyes at. So he had been right.

It wasn't a new thing. Phil had always been good at predicting these types of things, and had definitely always been good at cheering me up. I was lucky to have Phil Lester as a boyfriend, that was for sure.

That thought wasn’t a new thing, either.


End file.
